Saturday, August 8, 2015


                    A little squirrel pup, eyes not opened yet,
                    Lay under the investigating noses
                    Of our two dogs, too innocent to fret
                    About their hovering, intrusive poses.

                   I picked it off the ground at the oak’s base:
                   It was no longer than my outstretched palm
                   And breathing gently, oblivious to its case
                   Of seeming peril, lying serene and calm.

                  The best that I could think to do for it
                  Was lay it on a little fungus ledge
                  A yard above the ground, where it just fit
                  Close to the tree and farthest from the edge.

                     Gone in the morning, it was rescued by
                     Its mother, carrying it to their nest on high.